


we feel so american

by thepredatorywasp



Series: scream in there [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepredatorywasp/pseuds/thepredatorywasp
Summary: “Papa’s on the spaceship again?” River asks, his bright brown eyes welling with tears and his face growing red. “Comin’ back?”“Of course he is,” Alex says, smoothing down his son’s hair and adjusting the Mickey ears atop his head. “Always.”There is no easy way to explain to your three year-old that not only is he an alien, but his Papa is an alien and that apparently, Michael loves leaning hard into irony because he has gone on Space Mountain approximately ten times over the course of four days.





	1. Chapter 1

Ramirez told him a few years ago that when he doesn’t allow people to give to him, he is taking something from them. To reject a well-intentioned gift is to take someone’s joy. 

He likes to think that the universe gave them River. 

Alex found him, his baby, with Max when they were researching in Dallas. The moment his fingertips touched the pod, the baby looked right at him. Alex felt a smarting in his chest, like a clamp on each rib. Then the babe launched himself through the membrane and on to Alex’s chest. The little one let out one, strong life-affirming wail and the sting in Alex was gone. 

Alex barely remembers getting out of the dilapidated hospital and back to Roswell. He only recalls holding the warm, fluid covered being cradled his arms. The tiny hand-shaped stains on his combat jacket. He calmed the squalls, cleaned the remnants of the muck from the beautiful, pink, scrunched face. He wrapped the little thing in a threadbare shirt of Michael's he had taken to wearing. He put his jacket back on and huddled the now clothed child back under his arm for warmth. The shirt was a kind of dark blue. Michael looked in good in dark blue. So did this baby. Alex thought that Michael looked nice in anything. He imagined the infant in whites and greens and browns and even mauve. As expected, to Alex, the baby looked nice in anything, too.

Considering that the pair of them barely tolerate each other on a good day, Max said the whole situation made for a really, really fun ride home. He said Alex behaved like an animal. Anytime Max got close to them, River would let out a near sonic scream and Alex would gnash his teeth. Alex, apparently, threatened to break Max’s spine in five places when he suggested that the infant had unintentionally "put a mind whammy" on him.

He held the baby closer to his bare chest and kept him bundled tightly under his jacket the whole way. Alex had his own body braced against the back of the driver's seat so that he wasn't too jostled as Max drove. “He’s just a _baby_, you absolute _fuck_.”

“He’s also an alien. What is the game plan? I have never known you to not think things through or go in blind."

“Well, I can’t really put him back, can I?"

"We don't have the, like, baby things!"

"I can acquire 'baby things.'"

Max ranted for miles, eyes hard and frantic on Alex in the rear-view. He and Michael were set up in Boston, in a shit studio on the bad side of JP. A place that was short on beauty and long in functionality, just the way they liked it. They were still unsettled then. They didn't want to take on too much in case they found themselves in a jam again. They were foals with shaky knees in grown men's clothing. Their work schedules decorated the stucco walls, held up with scotch-tape and a prayer. The steam heater caused the pages to wilt and yellow. A packed knapsack in the small closet. A single pot and frying pan for cooking. Just enough food in the cabinets to get them through a week. 

Michael was ten credits away from completing his undergrad and had just been accepted into MIT’s doctoral program. Max reiterated over and over what a bad idea he thought this was for the both of them. Especially, given their former issues. When Fiona died last year, Alex didn’t get out of bed for almost a week. 

But, that couldn't be right. It had only been a couple of days. That couldn't be right. 

Alex looked out the window at the dance of town lights in the distance. Max didn't believe he could hack it and Alex didn't blame him. This flew in the face every single element Alex employed when making a decision: This was illogical. This was irresponsible. This was destabilizing. This action had direct and indirect effects on others. This was based on emotion. 

He hadn't even made a pros and cons list.

And yet. 

“What, exactly, are you getting at, Maxwell? Straight people have unplanned babies all the time. Mentally ill people have babies every damn day.”

“Don’t,” Max barked at him, his voice rough and loud. The big dog handed down his orders, as he was wont to do. “Do not. Do not try and make this about that when you damn well know it is not. That baby is not yours. He could have hatched, for lack of a better word, for anyone.” 

The baby stirred and let out a few cries, not pleased to be roused. He was hungry, no doubt. Alex eased the tip of his finger into his mouth. The baby suckled at it eagerly and soon fell back asleep, his mouth still moving in mock-eating. Alex then had a pulsing venom and fierce protectiveness encasing his veins and pumping through his heart. He felt sick. He felt alighted. They would figure it out because this kid needed them. Alex could feel it in his bones, in his blood. He acted in Michael's stead and kicked the back of Max's seat with his good leg. “It wasn’t just anyone. It was _me_. And you're driving too fucking fast. I have a baby back here.” 

* * *

So, Ramirez said it is a dick move to not accept things. 

Which is why he had to look Isobel in the eye and swallow down every rejection he has and say thank you for the week long trip to Disney World. Isobel says it is a combination “nephew’s birthday/brother’s graduation/her best friend existing and thriving/Elizabeth Warren being re-elected” present. A present that is easily three grand. It would take them forever to pay her back. Michael is graduating in the spring and has some bites for jobs, but Boston is expensive. Alex has only been working part time in the library for the university since River made his dramatic entrance into their lives. It’s boring work, but Alex is fine with it. Boring, in the form of finding a book to quell a sophomore's mid-semester panic, is kind of nice after everything. He still flexes his intellectual muscles in other ways with the occasional code breaking for the team back in New Mexico. He still reads and studies. He still talks with Isobel and Liz on the phone too much. He plays the piano in the common area sometimes. He hasn't lost himself in Michael and River, but rather, expanded.

They live in the cramped student accommodation that is allocated for families. Alex doesn't know what they are gonna do when they lose Michael's university T-Pass. River keeps spitting up or spilling his oat milk on library books and they are racking up fines at Copley. Michael keeps stealing the little bottles of juice they put out at conference events even though they are from concentrate and offer no real nutritional value. "Calories are calories," Michael always said as he fills River's off-brand CamelBak to the brim. "Human cells break everything down to the sugar, anyway." When Alex reminds him that River isn't human, Michael got frustrated. "He likes it. Kids deserve treats, or whatever. He likes it."

Alex settled River on the floor with a wooden puzzle that is missing a third of the pieces and his hard won apple juice. He pushed Michael back on their old futon and climbed onto his lap. Alex kissed away his consternation, told him to swipe more of the Ruby Red Grapefruit. That it is his favorite. 

So, they are not exactly rolling in it and that reality was a real kick to the nuts. 

“Paying me back? Are you dense? It’s a fucking gift! You know what those are, right? What good is me being a rich, hot, single business owner if I can’t spoil my nephew?” 

“It’s… it’s just too much.”

Isobel feigned annoyance as she laid down on the couch. She put her head in his lap and pulled up a breakdown of the prices for everything on her phone. With every revealed expense, Alex cringed. He thought back to the lectures from Michael on the limitations of capitalist societies and dangers of corporate monopolies that he pretended to listen to, even though he already knows and Michael knows he knows.

“Is this even our style? Michael is not a fan of rampant happiness. I am not a fan of other people.”

“That’s bullshit. Michael will love the rides. Anyway, the hotel is free. A friend of mine is a part of some timeshare/club thing and she just gave me some of her points.”

“A friend? Sure enough,” Alex snarked and tapped her on the nose. 

She flicked him back with her sharp, gelled nails and he winced. 

“A woman I was briefly having regular sex with, is that better?”

Alex grinned and nodded enthusiastically. Isobel gagged as he waggled his eyebrows. 

He tried to grumble about the fingerprinting system that Disney has, but he knew he had no line there. Especially, since they decided that hiding in plain sight is the best course of action for everyone. Michael had been fingerprinted not only for his job, but for numerous arrests. They put River on the grid and forged his paperwork the second they had him settled in Boston. The government literally has Alex’s DNA. 

His choice was made, though, when Isobel glared and said, “Alexander, light of my life. I have three words for you: Star. Wars. Land.”

The woman always could construct a good argument. 

He told Isobel he would make her a deal: “The dude has been super sad since my old shrink dumped him. And that was almost a year and a half ago.” 

“Fine.” Isobel looks ever-gorgeous in her fury. Though, the threatening eye squint was much less effective when she was wearing Michael’s hoodie and half in his lap, half on the floor. “I will go on one date—one— with Valenti when I get back to Roswell, if you go on my perfectly planned Disney trip with your family.”

"Yes. One date with a kind, hot doctor who knows you and adores you. What a trial."

"Indeed." 

They spit shake on it. 

* * *

January has come and they made it to Florida. They made it here from Boston easily. He expected Michael to be more hesitant about flying with River, but at thirty-five (almost) Dr. Guerin was a whole new breed of relaxed. His advisor told him a few days ago that his dissertation was essentially in the clear, all he needed to do was the defense in March. And last night, he had gotten a call from his old boss at Northeastern that they had a position in the department open and that if Michael was interested, they would gladly hold it until May for him. There would be some advising of undergraduate theses involved, but it was the research Michael wanted to be doing. He got the email with details that morning while they were going through security. 

When Michael tilted his phone to show Alex the salary range as they boarded, Alex let out a groan of delight. He pressed his forehead to Michael’s shoulder and said with a dreamy voice, “We could live in Brookline.”

“Brookline,” Michael affirmed and nodded tightly, as if he was willing it into existence. He looked determined as he readjusted their son on his hip. 

After they settled in their seats, Alex rubbed his nose against River’s and stage whispered, “Is my baby gonna be in the right zip code to go to one of those fancy temple preschools?”

“Goddamn right, he is,” Michael growled. 

He looks at Michael now and is awed by how he is so sure in his own body and mind. He used to worry endlessly about Michael and his damn mouth, because academia was a politics game when it came down to it. But, Michael is a genius, in every sense of the word. Sober, happy Michael is a damn charming person and he has sailed through, thus far. MIT is a glorified torture chamber for PhD candidates, a viperous pit. But Michael’s department is one of the best. Michael calls out injustices when he sees them and has worked from the start to affect real and true change in the way things are done. The lion’s share of the people in his cohort are ten years younger than him. He felt a sense of duty to them, to protect them. And he has.

Alex took a deep, relaxing breath. “I am so unbelievably proud of you.” 

Michael took an earbud out and frowned. “For… buckling the kid in?”

Alex tells him yes, for that. For everything, for every part of him. For doing what he has done. Michael scratched the back of his neck and waved him off. Only Michael Guerin could think getting his B.S. and PhD in under six years, all while navigating a new city, family issues, getting sober, government conspiracies, being a literal goddamn alien, and a surprise baby is “not that big of a deal.” Michael was never great at receiving praise. Alex can sense and see, in the way Michael tugs at his t-shirt hem, clears his throat, that he was getting uncomfortable. That it was too much. 

“Do you want it? The NU job?” Alex asked, genuinely curious if Michael had changed his mind about lab work, but Michael just nodded. “Then you are going to get it.”

He smiled at Michael, easy in his knowledge. Michael ripped both headphones out and reached to bring their mouths together. Michael gives him languid, blood surging kisses until the flight attendant comes over the speakers to explain flight safety during take-off. 

Blessedly, their three year-old was only a small terror in the airport, wept quietly in Alex’s arms as his little ears popped then slept slouched over, his head resting on Michael’s stomach for the rest of the flight. He was a wide-eyed angel on the bus ride to the hotel, babbling about flamingos. 

By the time the get to their animal-themed hotel, Alex is getting a little overwhelmed. He keeps it tight until they get to their room and he sees the animals walking around on the grounds outside. He stalks across the room and pulls the curtains closed. He manages to keep his voice low and calm in tone, but only just barely. They are three stories up and there is a deck and goddamn literal giraffes out there. His baby loves giraffes and they are three stories up and it is dangerous. His **baby ** _ loves giraffes _. He tells Michael so. He tells him that it is crazy. That is whole situation is crazy. 

And Michael—his perfect, perfect Michael—just sits on the floor with their kid, humming and nodding. When Alex finally deflates, Michael looks up and says, “We can keep the curtains closed and I’ll move that chair right in front of the knob. You know our kid. See no, do no.” Alex is decidedly unconvinced and he must look it because Michael smiles tightly and tugs on River’s sleeve. “Hey, Mouse, look at me for a minute.” 

“Papa, put thing on truck.”

“River, look at me and listen to me, now.” River turns to his father, with pouting lips and wide eyes. Alex watches as Michael runs a hand through his son’s curly hair and softens his voice, “River Mohe Guerin, you do not go near that glass door unless me or Daddy is with you. This is very important. That is a Daddy and River activity only. Understand?”

Michael gives him a double thumbs up as River bobs his head. 

Alex slouches down next to them on the floor, picking at the carpet. “I don’t even want him to see what is out there. But, then I feel like if we make it a mystery then it becomes a game and I—” he stops short as Michael presses a finger to his lips and tells him that they should go to Animal Kingdom and see the giraffes there, right now. A prospect that causes River to climb on the coffee table and dance. 

* * *

He sings to River every night, like his own mother used to do for him. The kid will not allow vacation to be any exception. “Sing my special song,” he demanded as Alex tucked him into bed. His bed was just the pull out couch in the living room, but River found it to be an exciting sign of his maturity. He finishes up his rendition of Moon River as his baby drifts off. He turns all the lights out, double checks that the porch and main doors are locked, and hobbles back into the main bedroom. 

“Your mouse is in a cookie coma, man—why are you crying?” 

He chucks his crutch on to the patterned floor and shimmies up the massive bed. It's the only thing he could possibly complain about on this vacation. The bed is too huge for two men that have been sharing nothing bigger than a full since high school. He places the laptop on the side table and pulls Michael close, his shirtless torso gives off immense heat. Michael gestures at the computer and mumbles about an email. 

> _ Soon-to-be Dr. Guerin, _
> 
> _ Mate!!!! You've only gone and bloody done it!!! Melissa just told me the good news. I know you are on vacation with the little man, but I had to tell you how excited I am. The dream team is back on (fingers crossed)! Talk soon? _
> 
> _ Samba _

Alex gets it. Stillness and calm can be disorientating when you are accustom to entropy. Michael still lives in constant fear of something happening to his family. The fear that it can be taken from him in a split second, in one turn too sharp, one misstep, one cracked glass door. Every step higher leads to a longer inevitable fall back down. 

“You’ve had a lot of good things happened in a small period of time.” Michael hums in agreement. Alex presses his lips against the crown of Michael’s head. “Sometimes—all the time, I wish that our moms could meet him. Could meet us as we are now.”

“Yeah,” Michael says wetly. Alex encourages him to match his breathing. Michael’s heart rate slowly returns to normal. 

He fiddles with Michael’s fingers. “I think if we can swing it when you get this job, I’d like to stay home for a little longer, if that’s okay?” He swallows nervously when Michael sits up straight. He looks so beautiful, with his hair wild and his brow furrowed. Alex tries to look away, Michael hooks a hand under his chin and makes him met his eyes. Alex rushes out an explanation, “It’s just that he’s only gonna be this little for so long and I—”

“We can swing it,” Michael whispers. He digs his fingers into Alex’s hair and begins peppering his face with kisses. “We can. Thanks for telling me what you want.” 

“What do you want?”

“I just wanna fuckin' take care of you. That's all I want.”

* * *

The next day, they luck into finding the line to meet Baymax is super short. When River sees his favorite cartoon, in the flesh, he lets out squeal so ear-piercing, so rambunctious that the Disney photographer nearly drops her camera. He doesn’t stop squirming, giggling, or yelling until the life-size marshmallow is out of sight. This photo might be his favorite of the entire trip and is in the running for all time. The photographer had shoved Michael and himself in the shot, Alex thinks partially as revenge. River’s eyes are bugging out of his head as he clings to Baymax’s leg, cheesing so hard it looks as though his face might split. Michael is crouched down with his head thrown back and Alex has his back to the camera with his face in his hands, trying and failing to collect himself, tears running down his face from laughing so hard his stomach hurt. 

* * *

Michael has eaten a truly appalling amount of waffles and this morning was no exception.

Alex is slowly sipping his guava juice as thinks of the tired looking mother who had actually moaned when a patch of stomach revealed itself when Michael picked River up and placed him on his shoulders in the lobby this morning. Michael had winked at her. An event that two years ago would have sent him into a downward spiral of insecurity now simply amuses him. Yay, therapy. Yay, Alex, as Liz would say.

Michael and River are sat across from him with matching shirts and stuffed plates. Michael is clearly teaching his son how to do a buffet right. The Mickey waffles are piled on high. Alex thinks he sees a cinnamon bun in there. 

The sunlight brings out the bits of auburn in River's hair. His kid pushes his hair out of his eyes with his icing and syrup covered fingers. Alex scolds them both, “You are going to become a waffle.” 

“Wha?” Michael blurts, lifting his head from his trough. River is a mirror of Michael—startled expression, Darth Maul’s face on their shirt in glow-in-the-dark paint, wild curls, mouth full with a bit of syrup on their chin. They are so gross. He loves them so much.

Alex leans over the small table, forgetting the bustling people around them and takes a moment to cup Michael’s face. He returns Michael’s toothy grin as he brushes the crumbs out of his beard. He turns to River and speaks sternly, “I’m going to go get you some quinoa and you are going to eat it.”

“No, Daddy. Yucky.” 

Michael says that he agrees around a mouthful of waffle and egg. So does Alex, frankly. 

“Okay, how about some tomatoes then.” River makes a face. “Choose one.”

“‘Matoes,” River sighed, sounding very put upon as he pushes around the sugary congealed mess on his plate with a fork. The effect is kind of lost on Alex given the so-sparkly-you-could-see-them-from-his-home-planet Mickey ears that the kid is currently sporting. 

“Oh, I know” Alex says impassively with his hand over his heart. “You have such a tough, tough life.”

River gives him a sulking nod. 

His son seems to have recovered from his existential crisis re: stewed tomatoes by the time Alex returns. River is patting at Michael’s beard with sticky paws and crooning. He spots the drawing that River had been working on this morning on the table. It’s of River and Maria dancing under a rainbow. Or, rather, it is supposed to be of them dancing under a rainbow. It is really just a swirl of color. Michael assured River that it is abstract. 

Michael nudges the colorful paper with a knuckle. “You should send it to her.”

Alex successfully bites back an insult. He doesn’t want her back in yet, but he wishes he did. It has been over five fucking years. He knows it comes from his insecurities. He has a kid with Michael. They live across the country from her. This would be quite a long play on her end. Maria is a kind, giving, and non-vindictive person. He knows this to be accurate and yet, he still struggles. He feels immense, immovable shame and reckons it has been too long. Too much time has passed. He missed it. Ramirez told him it was a boundary thing and the slow pace of trust rebuilding was a result of his complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Alex thinks he has wrung that particular rag dry and that he is just being petty, at this point. And that maybe he is projecting. He can be spiteful. He was, for a time, quite spiteful and was good at being so. Maria is essentially Michael’s best friend, even with the distance. Michael only pushes him on it a little and sadly, today is one of those times. 

Alex is not a naturally good person, like Michael or Maria or Rosa. He has to work at it. And he is working at it.

The main difference, he supposes, is that this is the first time in five years that he actually wants to work on it. 

Alex still doesn't trust in his own memories of events, no matter how many times Isobel or Michael or doctors or his co-workers tell him that he is remembering things correctly. That he isn't making something up, or neglecting a detail. It makes talking to Maria difficult for him. He doesn't want to be cold with her, but for so long now, he thought this was the easiest route for her. That it has been too long. Wouldn't it be so much work for her to try and sort through this shit with him? And to what end? She doesn't want to do that. It would be a lot of work for the vague prize at the end of having something beyond a polite texting relationship with him. He is not that grand of a person to correspond with, surely. 

Michael keeps telling him that he _is_ getting _that_ part wrong. 

He weighs the pros and cons as he wipes River’s hands and face clean. River’s bouncing in his seat, his swinging feet periodically smacking Alex in the sternum. He lets his toddler’s incessant, incoherent babble wash over him and immediately falls on the side of just fucking manning up and doing it. He takes a photo of River and Michael holding up the drawing and smiling. He only beats himself up a little when he sees that the last text in their chain was from two months ago. _‘My son made this for you, unprompted. It's you and him dancing. He is very proud_.’ At the last minute adds, ‘_Miss you and hope everything is going okay_.’ 

* * *

All throughout the bus ride there and the walk through the park, Michael calls it Star Wars Land. No matter how many times Alex corrects him. 

“It’s Stars Wars: Galaxy’s Edge.” 

They make it just in time for the show, a combination of music and film clips and characters in full costume. River and Michael are transfixed by the fight scenes on stage. Alex is giddy like a school boy, in a way he hasn’t been since that day in the shed. He feels transported. His mama had always talked about the emotional power of story, of legends. 

As the show plays on in front of them, River points at Jar-Jar on the screen. “Daddy, whatsit?”

“We don’t talk about him, River.”

“Oh, okay, Daddy,” he says very seriously and settles back against Alex’s chest. The music is swelling and young Luke is looking at a binary sun. Voices he knows better than his own blood’s speak of family and honor and the stars. Before Alex can check-in with himself, he is weeping. He lets out one, loud horrifically embarrassing sob before clapping his hand over his mouth. River looks alarmed and squirms in Alex's hold to give him a full body hug. His wraps his little arms around Alex’s neck and his chubby thighs squeeze his torso. “I’m sorry, lovey," Alex squeezes back and rocks River's little body side to side. "Everything is okay. I—I—I just really love Star Wars.” 

“It’s okay, darlin’,” Michael assures him, his hand rubbing up and down Alex’s arm. He sounds sincere. But when Alex looks at his partner, Michael’s mouth is shaking as he strives to maintain a neutral expression. He barks out a laugh before collecting himself. “I’m sorry. This is just the dorkiest thing you have ever done.” 

* * *

He is sitting on fake rock waiting for Michael to finish up in the restroom. River is standing next to him, vibrating in place and talking about bugs. He finally checks his phone and sees that Maria responded: _ ‘Well, now I am crying. I am just full-on crying. Give the little man a big kiss from me. One for you, too.’ _

He attempts to type out a number of responses and fails. Not for the first time in his life, he is thankful that he has a cute kid to act as his social surrogate. He asks River if it is okay if they make a video for Maria, like they do sometimes for Aunt Izzy and Uncle Kyle. River nods and Alex presses record. 

“Go ahead,” Alex encourages, pointing at the screen and sliding his sunglasses back over his eyes, for fear that they would give him away. A fruitless gesture. Maria knows him well. She can probably sense his apprehension and fear all the way in New Mexico. 

“Hi, ‘Ria. I played-ed with Finn. Saw a bug. A big, big bug. Papa is in the potty. I found a big bug in dirt!”

“You sure did,” Alex says, using his free hand to tickle his stomach. “I bet Maria wants to know if you are having fun. Are you having a good time?” 

“Yeah! I made you a drawing-g!” River shouts, leaning forward to place his mouth directly on the phone’s speaker, only his little baby forehead in the shot. 

Alex laughs, pulling his son back into frame. He chides, “Okay. Let’s not make poor Maria lose her hearing. Say ‘bye’ to Miss. Maria, River.”

“Bye, Miss. ‘Ria,” his kid screams at the phone, waving frantically. Just before Alex can mouth his apologies behind River’s head, he shouts and blows kisses, “See ya later, gator! Love you!” 

This kid—this darling kid that Alex has done nothing in his life to ever deserve—is so chill and loving. He gives and takes affection so easily. His son and Maria have that in common. He prays River never loses it. He knows he and Michael will fight tooth and nail for their kid to keep it, like Mimi did for hers. Alex takes a second to to breath, find his center. He remembers about a year ago when he almost beat the ever-living shit out of Ennis, a Atlanta-bred button pusher and sleaze in a three piece suit from his Boston-based group. It had been Alex’s turn to share. He told them about how his Pops used to lock Alex in rooms with him. Jesse would mock interrogate him for hours about his mother, about honor, about how Alex felt about him and his methods, about just bullshit. How the next day, if he didn’t like Alex answers or how long it took to sway him, Jesse would then overfeed Alex and his brothers and have them run until they vomited. 

“_I guess in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t that big of a deal. I don’t know if that thing in particular is abuse. My father, in many ways, was sick and thought he needed to prepare us. In his own, fucked up way, I guess he—“_

_“Yeah. Sounds like just a difference in parenting styles. When you go home, you should do that to the squirt. Give it a whirl.” Ennis showed his pearly whites and rubbed his thin hands together. _

_”Excuse me?”_

_”That’s the test. Would you do that to—what’s his name—Lake? Pond? I don’t think you would. I think some part of you still thinks you deserved it and that is some bullshit. Grow up, Alex. Use your brain. You were a kid. Or is it that you think you retroactively deserve it, 'cause you were in a war. 'Cause you followed orders and did bad things. Done is done and you're still—" He snapped his fingers and said, "River! That’s his name.” _

_“My father was an abusive, homophobic—River is—I wasn't. It's different."_

_"Parents can't just dole out punishments for misdeeds not yet done. Especially for misdeeds that may not have taken place without a push."_

_"I'm not looking for absolution for the things I've done. It's not possible." _

_“Now you’re running through all the little things and moments in your head that you thought were normal. That you thought you earned. When they rise to the surface, and they always will, put yourself in your abuser’s shoes and ask yourself if you would do that to your own boy. Picture his little, trusting face and backhand him and tell him that he was a mistake by God that can never be corrected. Lock in a room with you and don’t let him out until he says what you wanna hear. Fuck with his mind. Let your mophead scientist do it to him, too. Look at River when he cries and is confused and tell him that you're doing right by him. I bet you never would. Can't do that. You know that's wrong, cause hitting is bad. So, do something softer, to prepare him: make little River run ‘til he spews. Make him not trust food or his body. That reaction you’re having? That’s how you know when and how your Pops did wrong. He did base, animal wrong to you, boy.”_

_"Keep my family’s name out of your fucking mouth, Ennis.”_

_”Ain’t.” _

Ennis was a fucking shitbird. Ennis was right. 

He kisses the smooth skin behind River’s ear, smelling the no-tear shampoo and the soft pretzel the toddler had housed just a few moments ago. The thought of doing a fraction of what his father did to him to River makes something violent, sour and rotten, twist in his gut. The wrongness of it. He thinks of Michael as a kid, only a handful of years older, and the beatings and exorcisms and abandonment. Alex feels as though he could open his mouth and scream and scream and just never, ever stop. Alex keeps his nose pressed to River’s curly, downy hair for a few beats. He is explaining his mouse ears to Maria in great detail, thankfully ignorant to his dad’s mental turmoil. Alex waits for him to finish before he turns back to the phone screen and looks into the camera.

“See you later, alligator,” Alex repeats. “Love you. Mean it.”

He cuts the recording off and sends it before he can talk himself out of it. A few moments later, his phone vibrates. ‘_I love my two favorite dudes, too_,’ Maria writes. ‘_Mean it_.’

He shows Michael when he returns to them and his man smiles at him, face all lit up like a birthday candle. “Well, I think someone has earned himself a second ice cream,” Michael declares with no room for argument as he swings an arm over Alex’s shoulders and pulls him ever closer. 

“Want ice cream, too,” River demands, marching ahead of them with determined swinging arms. So confident and sure in his own toddling steps.

Alex really is having the best time. 

* * *

They are laying in bed facing each other, with the end credits of the Last Jedi providing the only source of light when Michael blurts, “Tell me we’re not gonna be fuckin’ Disney people. I can’t stomach it.”

“We’re not gonna be Disney people.”

“Right. We couldn’t afford to be Disney people, even if we wanted to.”

“Which we don’t,” Alex assures, patting his cheek. 

“Right. We don’t,” Michael gets out through a yawn. His eyes flutter closed as he murmurs, “This is the best week ever, though.”

Alex doesn’t disagree. 

* * *

“Papa’s on the spaceship again?” River asks, his bright brown eyes welling with tears and his face growing red. “Comin’ back?”

“Of course he is,” Alex says, smoothing down his son’s hair and adjusting the Mickey ears atop his head. “Always.” 

There is no easy way to explain to your three year-old that not only is he is an alien, but his Papa is an alien and that apparently, Michael loves leaning hard into irony because he has ridden Space Mountain approximately ten times over the course of four days. 

They are waiting for him on one of the few benches in this park. Alex’s leg hurts a little, but more than that he just feels raw today. Their vacation is nearing its end and there have been so many new people and places and noises and most importantly, expectations. Choosing to ignore what he deems to be the silliest of any of his plights, Alex situates River on his lap and hums along with the Moana song pumping through the speakers.

Michael comes around the bend sweaty and flush with excitement. He has no business looking as tantalizing as he does in a Red Sox shirt and track pants, flecks of grey coming through his beard. River claps in greeting. 

“Again, Papa?” 

“Nah," Michael says, pushing his hair out of his eyes and squatting down to his son's eye-line. "Three times in a row is more than enough. If Papa goes again, he’s gonna puke.”

“Papa puke?”

“Papa puke,” Michael replies solemnly before fake retching. River giggles and copies his father. This continues with increasing intensity. 

_This_ is decidedly not hot and Alex tells him so: “You’re both disgusting.”

Michael scoffs, “He just doesn’t get us. C’mere, Creek.”

Alex’s mouth sets into that unpleasant firm line. He pulls River closer to his chest and shakes his head, patting at their baby’s hair and seething, “I have asked you a thousand goddamn times to please stop calling him that.” 

Michael is crestfallen, all traces of joy gone from his face in an instant. Passersby must think he is performing satire. Michael, with his deepened frown fussing with the toddler-sized, pink glitter-covered headband in his hands. His ass so close to ground, he might as well be sprawled out on the asphalt. A few beats pass before he looks up and asks, “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” 

Alex wants to stab himself in stomach approximately a thousand times as penance.

He is shaking his head frantically, trying to find his words, but Michael beats him to it. 

“Wait, okay. I—hey, Mouse. How would you like it if me, you, and Daddy take a bus ride back to the big room and you can watch the fancy TV and have juice. And then later on, we’re gonna go to dinner at a place that has as much ice cream as you can eat and... you can meet Tigger.”

“No,” Alex crows, slapping his own forehead, “No, Michael, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m really am sorry.”

“No, it’s not okay,” he says, pointing at Alex’s leg. “That is not okay and you did not tell me. Are you havin’—are you havin’ a fog?”

That’s what Alex’s mother used to call them. His little episodes. His little fogs.

“Yes. No. Michael, I—I just want… I just… I don’t know.” 

“It’s vacation,” Michael reasons. He gestures between the two of them vaguely. “I know we don’t exactly have a wealth of experience between us on this front, but we don’t have to do everything on Iz's schedule. In fact, please, let’s stop trying to do that. Stop trying to Type A this thing. I just wanna relax with you two, okay?”

River looks between Michael and Alex with increasing interest, clearly trying to work things out for himself. Unable to surmise the issue in a matter of seconds, he pouts and asks Alex if he is grumpy. 

“I guess I am a little grumpy. My leg hurts a little, lovey. But, that doesn’t mean I should use my mean voice. I’m really sorry.”

River tilts his head, making an indescribable noise and scrambles off of Alex’s lap. Before Alex can get a word out, River plops on the ground in front of him and kisses Alex’s aching right knee three times, each time increasing his intensity, and then asks, “'Dat help, Daddy?”

Alex manages a nod. He kisses his fingertips and places them on River’s forehead. Michael then scoops him up into his arms, holding River close and kissing him everywhere he could reach. River is still giggling and giving head-butt like smooches when Michael holds his free hand out to Alex. Alex swings his backpack on and takes Michael’s sweaty palm in his own. He asks if he is sure he doesn’t want to ride Space Mountain another time before they leave. 

Michael’s eyes are red, his voice cracks a little when he answers, “Honestly, I just wanna be where you are.”

They start their trek back to the front of the park and turn on to Main Street, still hand-in-hand. River pulls on Michael’s shirt collar and asks,“Papa, what’s your favorite bird? What’s your favorite Moana? What’s your favorite animal? What’s your favorite song?”

“Well, that’s a lot of questions. Let’s see, I guess I like crows. I like Moana. My favorite animal is probably an elephant. And my favorite song is anything your daddy sings. What is your favorite song?”

Alex laughs as Michael cringes when their son scream-sings ‘re-mem-bah meeee’ directly into his ear. 

* * *

River falls asleep as soon as his little butt hits the couch. He is sprawled out with his mouth wide open, in just his underwear, his sippy cup brutally abandoned on the floor. 

Alex soon follows, conking out on top of the covers as Michael catches up on emails. He wakes up a few hours later with the feeling of Michael running his fingers through his hair soothingly, “Hi, baby. Good nap?” 

“I’m sorry I was bitchy,” he says voice rough from sleep. “I’m so sorry.” 

“No, no. It’s overwhelming. I get it. I called Iz and she said vacation sniping is normal and that is the grand scale of things, this was a blip.”

“I don’t want sniping to be normal,” Alex says leaning into his touch. “But, I really do **hate **it when you call him Creek.”

“I know. I won’t do it anymore. Promise.”

River barrels into their room moments later flinging himself on top of Michael, singing about how the wonderful thing about Tiggers is that Tiggers are wonderful things. 

* * *

Alex spends more time looking at Michael and River looking at all the twinkly lights than what is likely considered kosher. They are the most wonderful things Alex has ever seen.

And the man in the MAGA hat, who has clearly had too much to drink, sat three tables over from them is one of the worst. 

Alex has developed a lot of skills over the years, in terms of dealing with his panic and irrational fears. But, as a parent? He knows he is a fucking basket case. What if River gets lost? What if there is an attack? What if River suddenly develops a peanut allergy whilst he is eating peanut butter? What if he trips and knocks his head? What if he gets sick? What if the sky fucking falls on him? What if he, even though they share literally zero of their genetic make-up, somehow manages to pass down his litany of mental health diagnoses to this kid? What if Alex is wrong about something? What if Alex _fails_? But, Michael is afraid of other people. Alex can handle people. He knows from dumbasses who are just looking for attention. Michael, on the other hand, is a junk yard dog. It has gotten demonstrably worse since River. The slightest notion of a perceived threat and Michael’s hackles rise something fierce. He is ranting about rednecks and cursing under his breath in Spanish. His hands were balled into fists, his jaw clenching tighter with each passing utterance of “half-breed” and “queer.” 

It only last a couple of minutes. A sweet, young waitress comes over and tells him to keep his voice down in the most Disney-friendly of terms and the man shuts up, right quick.

“Hey, Guerin. Your kid is watching you right now,” Alex nods in the direction of the space that River occupies next to him. “Your kid, remember?”

Michael exhales dramatically, as was his way. He looks at River, who had ceased coloring and humming and was just looking at them both, not blinking. 

“You hungry?” River nods emphatically. “Okay, why don’t you take your Papa and get some supper,” he instructs, softly running his thumb over Michael’s knuckles, their hands clasped together under the table. “Can you please make sure he gets at least some vegetables? I know we’re on vacation, but I fear juvenile diabetes.” 

Michael visibly relaxes, nearly sagging with relief onto the table, squeezing Alex’s hands tightly before releasing them. He thrives with a task, a to-do list. Michael reaches for River, who is trying desperately to pronounce juvenile to himself, plopping him into his lap to make sure his little sneakers are secure on his feet. 

“Jew-ven-nigh-ill, Mouse,” Michael over-enunciates slowly. 

“Juvenile,” he echoes enthusiastically.

“Dude,” Michael gasps, high fiving him and smiling big and proud. He looks around and asks their non-existent audience, “Just how smart is this kid?” 

“So smart,” Alex exclaims as River preens under the attention from his fathers. “Now, get broccoli.”

“Aren’t you coming?” 

“What if Eeyore comes by while you’re gone? I have to hold him here. I want a picture of my kid with my Patronus.”

Michael eyes the space between Alex and the jackass a few tables over. He scoffs, put out and fond, “You have all the fun. And, for the record, you are so, so Rabbit.” He is struggling to keep River in his hold as he asks, “You want pizza or somethin’?”

Alex does not even bother playing coy, declaring in a borderline sultry tone, “I was hoping we could have some Daddy/Papa time tonight. Pizza’s not the best idea for what I had in mind.”

Michael blushes a lovely pink. He is still unaccustomed to Alex’s unashamed wantonness. It’s a relativity new break-through that they are both still reveling in. “You’re killin’ me, here,” he half-pleads, half-teases. Alex watches as he squirms and knocks his knees together under the table a few times. Adjusting himself, he huffs, “I’m with storybook characters and cake and Christmas lights. I am holdin’ the baby right now.”

“Not a baby!” River asserts, smacking Michael on the shoulder. 

“River." Michael’s eyes cloud over for a few moments and River’s water. Michael grabs River’s still raised hand gently and places it back down at his side. “We don’t hit. I know you are tired, but you need to use your words.”

Alex has hamper down every instinct he has to step in and take over. He always thought he would have been the mean dad, the disciplinarian. He reckoned Michael wouldn’t have the stomach for it. But, Michael still has the capacity to surprise him. Which is great, because as it turns out, it is Alex that doesn’t really have the stomach for it. This kid really has Alex’s number and he needs the back-up. Michael is good at making sure River sleeps in his own bed, doesn’t scream in public, and picks up after himself. Alex is adept at making sure he eats properly, keeps clean, and respects people’s space on the T. 

Michael still struggles with the hitting, though. No matter how many times Alex tells him that all kids do it, the action still seems to shake him at times. But, today he holds strong and River just wails in the face of his disappointment. He buries his face into Michael’s neck. Michael tuts and presses their temples together whispers things that Alex cannot hear and supposes he doesn’t need to. They are doing their ‘communicating through incoherent noises only’ thing. An understanding croon here, a whimper there. Alex does make out River saying that he isn’t a baby anymore as he pulls back from his father’s shoulder, which is now snot covered. 

River apologizes, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Good, apology accepted,” Michael says, rising from the table with River in his arms. He runs a hand down the boy’s back soothingly. “And I hear you, okay? No more ‘baby.’ Can I still call you ‘Mouse’?”

“Duh-doy,” River yells, before nearly throwing himself out of Michael’s hold to place a spit-filled kiss on Alex’s cheek. 

“You know, your daddy calls you his baby all the time.”

It’s true. Maybe his baby doesn’t want to be called his baby anymore. He has to make good with that, even though the thought of it makes him feel like Michael just dropped a cinder block right on his chest. He clears his throat, throws a soft smile on his face. He touches River’s leg, when he gets his attention, Alex says, “I know you’re a big boy. I can stop calling you ‘my baby’ if you want me to, River. Really, I can.” 

Alex would be ashamed to admit that he ached something fierce until he heard River mutter, nearly whine, with his face pressed to Michael’s neck, “No, no, no. No, Daddy. S’diff’ernt.” 

“Such a daddy’s boy,” Michael tsks warmly and then calls over his shoulder as dodges a waiter and moves towards the buffet, “Gettin’ it from all angles here.”

Once his family is out of his line of sight, Alex rises from his seat. Groaning at his creaking bones, he makes his way three tables over. The bigot is shoving rare steak into his mouth. He doesn’t appear to be actually chewing. Alex lightly places a hand on the man’s shoulder. When Alex finally spoke, his voice was low and pleasant, “No, no. Don’t turn around. No need to make a scene. I’m so sorry to bother you during your dinner with your family, but you need to keep your racist, rotten tongue in your diseased head around my kid, understood?” 

He gets a silent, shaky nod in response. 

Why is it that bigots always almost piss themselves when confronted? 

He sits back down at his table, folds his hands in front of himself until River and Michael return with their full plates. 

River mentions the fireworks. He shares a look with Michael. They discussed that if the kid made a play to stay for the fireworks, Alex would just go back to hotel and Michael would stay. Michael doesn’t like the noise, but he could handle it. 

“You want to stay for the fireworks?”

River shakes his head violently with bugged out eyes. An adorable gesture that causes his curls to bounce and his lips to shake. “Nope, nope. Scary, Papa.”

“And what do we say about being scared?”

“Dat it’s 'kay to be scared.”

Michael confesses that he thinks they are scary, too. River gives him an awe-filled look. 

“Well, it’s settled then. We’ll call it a night after this,” Alex says, cutting up carrots and spooning them onto River’s plate. As soon as it is clear that River is tucking into his meal, Alex turns to Michael, and whispers serenely, “And then you can give it to me from all the angles you like.”

Michael lets out a squeaky breath before trying to swallow his food down and hacking, as a result. River’s silverware clanks on the table top as he scoots over in the booth to pat Michael’s back like Doc McStuffins taught him to. 

Alex laughs right in Michael’s face. 

* * *

They spend their last night the same way they have spent every night here: Michael wears River out in the pool and Alex sits in the hot tub a few feet away. He closes his eyes, drinking in the sounds of them splashing about. It is the best sound. Alex is hard pressed to think of a better one. 

Alex has been followed by an amorphous shadow of sadness his entire life. It is still there, present and mocking. He still finds himself thinking, more often than his support group likes, that he hasn’t given enough to deserve this. He hasn’t bled enough to warrant his family. River smiles and waves at him. Michael's hands are firm around their son's waist as he kicks his tiny feet, making ripples on the water's surface. River screams in delight when Michael lifts him over his head.

He doesn’t think he could ever bleed enough. 

He has to work at it everyday, in some way shape or form. But, he looks at Michael and their son and all he can see and feel and taste is light. He has a good life. He leans back, closes his eyes and sinks down to his neck in the water. Alex may be, in this moment, as whole as he is ever going to be and his heart is soaring and his skin is buzzing and he loves and he loves and he loves. 

He hears Michael let out an excited whoop. When Alex opens his eyes, he finds his son is moving a plastic shark around the pool with his just mind. 

And that's new. 

Well, now Alex really has got to delete his baby’s fingerprints off of the database as soon as they get home. 

He also _ might _be a Disney person. 


	2. bonus: and really bad eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex isn't going to cry on a fuckin' Disney ride. He ain't.

The Manes family didn’t do "vacations." They did excursions on cloudy mountaintops. They practiced survivalist camping in humid caverns and fished in cold salt lakes. The summer before Alex went to preschool, his father had thrown him into the water head first. _Sink or swim, boy_. Alex swam, instinctively kicked his legs hard to get his head above water. He didn’t whine about it. He just swam. In his first heaving breath, he sucked in a lungful of dirty lake water. He got pneumonia.

His mother was still around then. She brought him hibiscus and ginger tea five times a day and watched as he drank it all down. 

After weeks of feverish coughing fits, the doctor told his father that his withholding of cough medicine was causing a strain, which could cause a tear, which could cause an abscess. Jesse was nonplussed by this information and just plain angry that he had to be the one to take Alex to the appointment. 

"Look, this isn't a ‘tough it out’ thing. A throat or lung abscess in a child this young could be fatal. An infection in the blood stream, like that." He recalls the sharp snap of the doctor's fingers echoing in the small exam room. Her pretty braid swayed when she shook her head and snapped again. "Just like that." 

Jesse frowned. He picked Alex up off the cool exam table and held him. He didn't even flinch when Alex hacked loudly by his ear. He paid the bill at the front desk, Alex at his hip, his hands clutched in the fabric of his father's fatigues. Was he afraid, even then? Did he think Jesse would drop him? Alex couldn't remember. He just remembered how Jesse kept frowning. He scowled and watched Alex slam to and fro in his booster seat. Jesse rode the clutch all the way home. He gave Alex ice cream—the cheap, sticky, purple kind—with his medicine that day. He sucked the syrupy, sweet Dimetapp down and chased it with the even sweeter dessert. His father wiped his face clean with a warm washcloth. 

He can count the number of nice things his father did for him on one hand. That was one of them. 

Alex also remembers coughing up blood.

Maybe that is why he sandwiches River between Michael and himself on these dark water rides.

He thought they would hate the Pirates of the Caribbean. The movies were never Alex's thing, plus the ride has gunshots and cannon fire. But, Alex loves it. It’s his favorite. He loves the music and the animatronics and the permeating smell of smoke and rust.

On their third time riding it, Michael runs his fingers through the water along the boat. He then flicks the droplets at River, who just giggles and snuggles closer to him. Michael lifts his arm to allow River to wrap himself around his papa and squeeze. There is no trace of fear or tension in River’s little body, because Michael—the father who makes him smiley spaghetti and plays rocket ship and helps him feed the ducks at Jamaica Pond and reads him bedtime stories with silly voices—would never hurt him.

Michael is who River burrows under the covers with when he has nightmares. It’s Michael’s leg that River clings to and hides behind when he is frightened on the sidewalk.

The kid has good instincts. Because, Michael still has the capacity to be terrifying if he needed to be, if River needed him to be. As far as Michael has come with his temper, he still has a rage-filled possessiveness in him. It lives in his bones. And Alex loves it. He used to hate himself for it, for his attraction to Michael's raw form, his unbridled and beautiful essence. Nothing seems more natural to Alex now as he watches Michael press kisses to River's fingers.

The reality makes him ache with something he can't describe. It bowls him over. Alex isn't going to cry on a _fuckin_' Disney ride. He ain't. 

Later on the bus ride back to their hotel, River is snoring on Michael’s shoulder, his damp forehead pressed against Michael’s neck. Michael's voice is a calm rumble as he speaks on Liz’s latest discoveries. The bus driver takes a turn a little sharper than usual. Michael doesn’t even break pace in his story as he unconsciously places a hand on the back of River’s head to steady him.

“He feels so safe with you.” Alex brushes an auburn curl off of River’s forehead. Then he does the same for Michael.

“He feels safe with you, too,” Michael blurts. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I know. I know he does,” Alex nods with a soft smile. “But, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. Nothing and no one is stronger than you to him. You’re his big protector.”

“Yeah,” Michael sniffles into River’s hair. “Haven’t fucked it up yet.” 

“Stop it.”

Michael clenches his jaw, preparing to deflect. Alex cuts him off at the pass by placing a hand over his mouth. 'Alex was a Captain in the Air Force. He is a trained fighter. His family may have been fucked up, but at least he had one to model somewhat.’ Alex has heard it all before. That's almost five years to the left and none of that shit matters to their son. What matters is what they do now. What matters is who they are now. Alex doesn’t remove his hand until he gets out what he wants to say: “You are not going to fuck it up. Michael, you’re his **favorite** person.”

Michael blinks rapidly, breath coming out in haphazard bursts. He looks down at the kid in his arms. River is sleeping soundly, his hands fisted in the ugly t-shirt Michael got for free at a university event. “I am?” he asks, bewildered and unsure.

He holds Michael’s panic-laden face in his hands for a few beats before he gives him a quick peck on the mouth. When he pulls back, Michael‘s smile is dopey and wobbly. Alex settles against his side, his chin digging into Michael's shoulder. “Our baby gets his good taste from me. It’s inherent.”


End file.
